That old familiar songA chord recalled from deepest youthKMPC radio days and a yellow squash dinnerSmelled of fire-warmed cheeks and rustling L.A. TimesRead and discarded in paper drives

It's such a long, pulled threadThat memory running through meWrapped deeply within meDoubled back, looped around again and againAn immense movement stirredTugging at the young boy still clenched tight in my bellyStill free of "Joint" cares and evil ways to fear

I really wanna know youAllelujaI really wanna show youAlleluja

That Krishna melodySo incidental to my '70's, background, radio worldReturns me homeA flight of yearsOf vast, unfathomable distanceTo the sunshine, blue sky daysA two-year old perched high as sky on dad's shoulderNuzzled with mom watching Merv GriffinOn a red, scratchy couch

My Polaroid pictures paint brilliant Technicolor songs

If only you could feel this as I doYou'd taste the squash, tooYou'd smell the dinner, long decades late to tableYou'd feel the fire on your skin, flush with love and safetyAnd have the thread within you pulled

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